Decay
by slightlytragic
Summary: The Shepherds lost. Grima succeeded. A world of Ash remained.
1. Prologue

Prologue

* * *

_Naga's Holy Blade_

_(The Forsaken Priest)_

* * *

_R̸͉̈́ĭ̷̦s̵̛͙e̵̙͑,̸̪̈́ ̶̠͛F̷͓̕e̶̜̿l̸̖͝l̷̺͝b̵̾ͅl̶͙̈́ó̵̥o̴̺͑d̸̀ͅ,̷͍̇_

_̷͗͜Ê̵̲m̸͕̂b̸͉̊ṙ̸̦a̸̛͈c̸̥̾è̴̮ ̷̲̉t̸͎̆h̷̞̅e̵̛̲ ̴̲͌A̷̯̎s̵̪͝h̷̠̉.̶͉́_

* * *

"_There are better places to take a nap than on the ground, you know."_

Grey eyes shot open, and he shot upwards. He inhaled deeply, trying to steady his breathing. Sweat poured down his face, and his vision blurred.

He took a few moments, waiting for his sight to return to normal, and once it did, he looked around him, trying to find who had spoken. He'd heard a man's voice, one that was friendly, kind.

As he took in his surroundings, he realized…

He was alone.

He came to notice other things as well. He had been lying in an open field, which may have been beautiful at one point but now… the grass was brown, dying and wilted. Mixed with the flora was an odd substance, which he ran his hands through. Dust? No, something told him it wasn't dust.

Ash. It was ash. And it was everywhere.

His eyes rose to the sky to find it grey, overcast and foreboding. Ash seemed to block out the sun as well.

He felt, truly and wholly, as though he had woken up in a dead world.

There was no light, no fire, no warmth, and no life. This was a world of ash, of embers.

Of cinder.

He rose to his feet, shaking legs nearly betraying him. He wore a heavy black coat, bearing purple markings, and he found a sword hanging inside of it, concealed. Thick leather boots walked through the ashes, and black leather gloves covered his hands. His hair fell in front of his face at times, the white color distracting him. Once he focused, he was plagued by questions.

_Where am I?_

_What is this? _

_Am I the only man alive? _

_Where is everyone else?_

_Why am I still here?_

_Who… Who am I?_

...Robin… his name was Robin.

That was the only thing he knew about himself, as things stood. He walked through the field, desperate to find anyone alive, though he couldn't get over this eerie, cold feeling. As though he was being watched, in a world where he was the last person alive…

* * *

His feet carried him far, he'd been walking for around two hours, give or take. Truthfully, it was difficult to discern. He could only tell so much, there wasn't much light to go on, the ash above drowning most of it out. It was like being trapped in a perpetual dusk. He cared little for it.

Up ahead, he saw what seemed to be a village, and for one moment, he allowed hope to enter his heart.

That was foolish of him.

Perhaps a village stood there, once. Perhaps life flourished there for many generations. Perhaps this was once the home of a most happy populace.

Now, as Robin walked through the empty streets, he could notice only the decay. The destroyed buildings, the cinders and ash that had piled up like snow from the sky. He walked by a small market place, and spied a store which bore a sign.

_Southtown Trader_

Southtown. This had been a proper home, once, for many people. Now it was reduced to rubble and debris, deserted and desecrated.

What bothered Robin was how… _familiar_ the town was. How familiar the name was. It was like he'd been there before. He walked past a well, and heard the clashing of swords, despite no one being nearby. Was this a memory? Had he been in a battle here? A duel of sorts?

Robin grimaced, his headache warning him against pushing into his past. He sighed, frustrated.

He moved forward. Something else stook out to him, and that was the lack of bodies. In a… world such as this, one would expect to see corpses aplenty, but all he could find was ash and destruction. Were it not for the buildings, he'd almost question if any people had existed before him to begin with.

He didn't need his memory to know that this… this world was wrong. He knew, intrinsically, that this was not the world he'd known at one point. He may not remember his past life, but he knew villages were supposed to house _people, _not ash. That the sky was meant to be a vibrant blue, not a sullen, melancholic grey.

Yet every time he looked to the sky, he felt this sensation of… evil. No, no, evil wasn't the right word. This was… more pure, more… vitriolic. Once again, he felt the sensation. He felt someone, or some _thing _watching him intently. More than that, he felt as though… something took joy in this. In watching him find such a world. In watching him suffer.

He stumbled forward, breaking through the window of the trader shop. As he climbed in, he noticed immediately that there was still a rather great deal of rations, meaning that… the people who'd lived here, it's likely that they'd never left. But if that were the case, where were the people, or at the very least, their bodies?

Robin shook his head, trying to snap his mind from his thoughts. He reached for a can of beef, and popped off the lid. To his amazement, the meat still seemed good. Whoever the butcher was who canned it, they'd known how to salt meat well. It was entirely likely that this was years old.

Robin shoved several cans into his coat, before moving on. As he walked through the marketplace, he found what must have been the main road of the town, which led to the north. The sign read _Ylisstol_.

Again, Robin was struck by how… significant that name seemed to him. He nodded to himself, making up his mind and following the road north. Perhaps this Ylisstol would hold answers to his endless questions.

* * *

As he walked along the road, night seemed to fall. It was hard to tell, but it _did _seem to grow darker. He trudged along, at times losing his way due to the darkness and the ash obscuring the road, but he always managed to find his way back.

After a few hours of walking, his heart leapt up for a moment. Ahead, he could see what appeared to be two people, walking toward him. He started to walk faster, until he broke into a run, relieved to find _anyone _else who lived.

As he got closer, though, he realized something was off. For one, they shambled with an odd gait, as though their muscles didn't work properly. They were both armed and armored, bearing the appearance of soldiers, but their armor was in shambles, metal plates having fallen away. Both of the soldiers had areas that were no longer protected due to the missing plates, and both also had gaping slashes wrent into them, one across the chest, the other across the shoulder. One dragged an axe behind him, the other carried only a bronze blade.

But what truly concerned him were the eyes. Red, glowing eyes.

That cold feeling, the sensation of being watched, it flared up again, and with a greater intensity as the two… creatures seemed to stare at him. Robin stopped in his tracks, beginning to see that these were not friendly creatures. They shambled closer, and closer. Until the axeman shrieked and took off into a run.

If one could even call it a run. As it got closer, Robin got the impression that this… _thing_ wasn't even alive. Half of its face had rotted away, and he could see maggots burrowing beneath its skin. Its 'run' was difficult to watch. It seemed as though some of the creatures muscles refused to work, making it switch between using its legs to give itself power, and using its free hand to stabilize itself and control its direction.

Something took over Robin as the beast drew near, a calm rationality. He took a deep breath in, closing his eyes. He wasn't certain how, but he knew well that this was far from the first time his life had been in jeopardy. So, he lit his instincts take over.

The beast leapt into the air, raising its axe for a smashing blow, but the creature never landed. Rather, a bolt of electricity shot through its chest, seeming to kill it instantly, sending it careening into the ashen ground, shaking.

Robin turned his attention to the swordsman, who seemed to have decayed less. More of its muscles seemed to function correctly, leading Robin to draw his own blade, an iron longsword. Despite the creature overall being better suited to combat than its former comrade, it was still marred by its own rotten cadavre. Its strikes were slow, poorly aimed, and it appeared as if the blade was too heavy for its muscles to support. Robin could weave in and out of the blows with relative ease, and finally sliced at the creature's wrist and severing it, sending the bronze sword clattering to the dust. Another swing, and the creature's head soon followed, black blood spewing from its neck.

Letting out a sigh, more of disappointment than fatigue, Robin continued along his way. Whatever those creatures had been, it proved two things.

One, he was trained, and trained well. He had no recollection of said training, and wasn't certain if he'd been a soldier or a mercenary or anything in between. He knew only that he was skilled with his blade, and that he knew magic, to such a degree that he could cast C-Class spells without a tome, something only experts could do (he thought). Finally, his body was well toned and he had a fine degree of endurance. Even after trudging through ash for several hours, that fight hadn't even left him winded.

Two, something cataclysmic had happened. His theory regarding those creatures relied only on what he had seen thus far; that they appeared to be undead. They didn't bleed normal blood, and they seemed marred by prior injuries. Almost undoubtedly, they related to the reason for the world's current state.

Was there anyone out there? Was he alone?

He shook his head, trying to keep his mind from dwelling on matters he had no control over. Better to just trudge on, as best he could.

So he continued, for several hours, before sleeplessness struck him. Not wanting to be beset upon by any of the undead terrors while he rested, he found a dead tree, and climbed up to its highest safe spot.

For a time, sleep couldn't quite take him. That feeling, that wretched sensation that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, it haunted him.

Something evil, something malignant was watching him.

* * *

He awoke after a few hours to the sounds of groans. He looked down to find that he had, indeed, made the right decision to climb to safety for sleep.

Thirty feet below him, a group of five undead looked up at him, trying to raise their assorted weapons to strike him. Nothing came close, and they did not seem to have any ability to climb.

He sighed once more, raising his hand. One by one, bolts of thunder struck the undead, until there were none left standing. His feet hit the ground, ash and dust kicking up around him. Idly, he noticed that none of it stuck to his coat. He moved forward, finding the road leading to Ylisstol and continuing along it.

This time, he only walked for an hour before seeing a new sight. Before him stood a chapel, run down and barely standing. One of the walls had caved in, and parts of the roof had collapsed, but what attracted Robin was the sound. The sound of flesh being torn into.

Robin approached the caved in wall, cautious, before peering into the ruined chapel. What he found was an odd sight to behold.

There was a pile of corpses, all seeming to be those undead creatures he had encountered already. There had to be at least three dozen bodies there, all decimated and destroyed. And in the center of the corpses was a man.

His hair was long and golden, cascading over his shoulders. He wore brilliantly beaming armor, which cast all of him in a soft, holy light. His face was seemingly without flaw, from where Robin stood. He was a mix of feminine beauty and masculine handsomeness, and Robin knew, intrinsically and without reservation, that he _knew_ this man. From where, he was uncertain, but he'd known him, at one point.

What the man was doing was odd, though. He stood over the pile of bodies, bringing his axe down on the corpses repeatedly, tearing into them seemingly emotionlessly. He struck, again and again, like clockwork.

After watching him for a time, Robin decided that, whoever he was, at least he was alive and familiar. Robin stepped forward to speak, but was cut off by the man turning to regard him, the axe pausing in its motion.

Now Robin could clearly see the man's eyes. They were…

The eyes of a madman.

"What's this, then?" His voice was angelic, yet something sinister rested beneath. "Another sinner seeking retribution, or… another beast to be culled?"

He took a step forward, his axe steady at his side now. Robin backed away, slowly, every instinct screaming that he was in danger.

"Ah, but you are more than a beast. You… you are a fell creature. A blood most cursed, yes.

I will release you from your hell, Fellblood," he said, swinging his axe up into a ready position. "For I am Libra, the Holy Blade of Naga, and Her most proud Executioner."

Libra. Robin knew this man. That name, it… it resonated with him.

For a moment, he could hear snippets of a conversation.

"_Then, will you fight at my side, Libra?"_

"_...Yes, tactician. I believe you to be a just man. I'd be honored to join your Shepards."_

Was this a memory? A conversation from a time long past?

His thoughts, his confusion, it nearly killed him. With no former warning, Libra surged forward, axe angled to cut Robin in half, from top to bottom. The amnesiac sidestepped enough to avoid the blade, but such force was behind it that the ground ruptured from the blow, sending Robin flying like a leaf in the wind. He landed hard, several yards from where he'd stood, moments prior. He rose quickly, with just enough time to avoid the next strike.

Libra was relentless. He swung his axe from left to right and back again, ceaselessly, using both arms. And Robin knew that any one of them would certainly split him in two. There was too much power in the blows to try and challenge any of them and hope for a riposte, could he wait until the executioner tired himself out? That would be operating under the assumption that he couldn't keep up the assault, but could Robin be certain this was the case? A war of attrition very well may not be in his favor.

He had to think. He couldn't challenge his opponent in might, but it seemed that Robin had the edge in speed. Could he use that to his advantage?

He ducked under an axe swing that very well could have decapitated him. It seemed Libra's axe had a great deal of weight to it. Perhaps he _required_ both arms to wield it effectively.

So, as he ducked under the swing, his own blade arced up, aiming for his opponent's right shoulder, attempting to sever the arm.

Pain erupted in his right side, Libra's knee digging into the amnesiac's ribs. Robin tumbled away, shocked. Libra had stopped his axe suddenly, mid-swing? What was he dealing with?

Libra surged forward again, the axe burying itself just in front of Robin. As the amnesiac leapt backwards, he fired a blast of electricity, only for Libra to sidestep and continue the assault. Robin ducked another swing of the axe, just to have to roll away in order to avoid a kick to the stomach.

It became clear to him, he couldn't win in a straight fight. He had to use his mind…

As Libra surged forward, an idea struck Robin. Right as the executioner's axe descended, Robin cast his spell. A blast of wind, aimed directly at the ground. The force of the spell carried Robin away from the axe, and the wind kicked up ash as a makeshift smokescreen.

Libra stood in the cloud of ash, searching for his prey, when Robin emerged behind him

"_Thoron!"_

The spell blasted forward, the massive bolt of electricity flying too fast for Libra to completely avoid, even though he leapt to the side.

The spell connected. Libra's left arm was vaporized, the wound cauterizing instantly

The executioner stood to his feet, only to be met with Robin's blade, puncturing his heart.

"Forgive me," Robin uttered. Libra's gaze trailed down to the sword sticking out of his chest, then to Robin's face.

The amnesiac removed his blade, sullenly, wanting this stranger he once knew to die with some amount of dignity.

Yet, around Libra, a glow formed. Green light surrounded him. The bleeding from his heart ceased, his wound closing. He regarded his severed limb idly. His right arm went to his side, and before Robin, pulled silver longsword from its sheath. He pointed it at Robin, insane eyes shining with a joy that sickened the amnesiac to his core.

"You, beast most fell, are truly a worthy opponent," His voice no longer seemed angelic. It was more… malicious. "I will grant you a fitting death, and Naga will send your soul through all of the Seven Hells. For I am Her favored Executioner, Her Blade most Holy!"

Suddenly, he flew forward. His blade slashed through the air, with precise, quick blows. Robin managed to deflect these strikes, but he only barely managed to keep up. Libra's whole fighting style changed, in a matter of seconds. He was faster now, though his blows carried less impact. He fought with one arm as though it were a mere inconvenience.

Slowly, Robin felt himself getting overwhelmed. Libra was a surprisingly agile fighter, somersaulting over Robin, slashing at him as he leapt. When he landed, he kicked out, catching Robin's leg, before transitioning into a sweep.

Robin hit the ground. He knew, then and there, that this was the end. The moment his back hit the ash, he knew it was over. Libra crawled on top of him, raising his sword into the air.

"Burn, Accursed One. Burn."

The blade descended. Robin closed his eyes

He felt the force of it as it struck his heart.

He then heard a shattering sound. Robin opened his eyes to find that the blade had broken on impact, only half the blade remaining now, splintering off in a jagged edge. It had struck his coat, and… shattered.

The blow had hurt, badly, but it felt more like a blunt strike than a stab to the heart. Was his coat resistant to cutting? It was the only thing that made sense.

Libra was equally shocked, staring at what remained of his longsword, now closer in appearance to a dagger. Robin had to make use of the opportunity.

A bolt of lightning struck the priest's heart, shooting up into the dark sky. Thoron left a hole in Libra's chest, leaving the priest to slowly fall over, into the ash, gasping for breath.

"I'm sorry," Robin said. "I… I'm sorry."

This was a man he'd known once. A man he'd been friends with once. Even if he couldn't remember it.

Libra stared into the grey sky, blood pouring from his mouth, still struggling to breath. After a few moments, the struggling stopped. He let out one last exhale, and with it, his dying words.

"Forgive me, my Exalt…" silence, for a moment. "Forgive me, milady… Lucina…"

No more words followed. Robin reached over after a moment, closing the priest's eyes for him.

_Naga, _he thought, _I know nothing, I know not who or what you are, but please, grant him peace._

He stayed there for a moment, the only sound being the ash that flew up with the occasional breeze.

"_Thank you, my Fellblood."_

His eyes searched the area around him, knowing that he hadn't imagined those words. He'd heard a woman's voice, frail and withered, yet no one was near him. Was that Her? Naga?

No more words followed, but he took comfort. Perhaps it was only for a moment, but those words told him that… perhaps he wasn't alone. Perhaps he was being watched by more than the darkness of the void.

He sat there for a long while, pondering what he'd done, and what'd happened. He closed his eyes, thinking long and hard on his next actions.

His eyes shot open at the sound of a horse's trot.

Before him, one stood, regarding him from a few feet away. Its rider's lance was already leveled at him, an armored knight wearing blue and white metal plates that, like so many things, seemed so familiar to Robin, though he couldn't place it. The knight's helm obscured any facial features, but… it seemed that he recognized Robin. The lance began to shake, before the point dipped away from him entirely.

"Praise be…" Robin knew that voice. He was sure of it.

"Who… who are you?" Robin asked. The knight continued to gawk at him for a few more seconds.

"Robin, you're… here…" the emotion behind the voice was hard to pin down. Relief? Shock? "We… we have a chance! We may be able to win!"

The knight removed his helm, and Robin knew he'd seen this man before. Before he could ask, the knight spoke.

"I am Frederick, Last Knight of Ylisse. You and I were friends and allies, once. You… you are what we've needed for years. To see you again… we might have a hope now."

Robin stared for a moment. "I… I don't understand. What's special about me? Who _am _I?"

The knight smiled, a warm expression, though it seemed foreign to his features.

"You are our greatest hope. You are the tactician of the Shepherds."

* * *

E̸̲͂m̶̲̈́b̸̻͐ṙ̷̘a̶͓͗c̸͓̎e̵̡͠ ̷̚ͅẗ̶͇́h̴͇̆ê̶̫ ̶̖̀A̸̲̓s̷̥̅h̶̟͊


	2. The Last Exalt

Chapter One

* * *

_The Last Exalt_

_(The One Who Walks Alone)_

* * *

The two men were silent for a moment, the only sound being the ash in the wind. Robin was at a loss, shocked after finding someone who, in appearance, was friendly. The knight maintained eye contact for a moment, before his gaze moved back, seeing the fallen priest behind him. Frederick's eyes widened.

"Ah, old friend…" The knight dismounted, walking over to Libra's body. His features hardened, as he turned to regard Robin. "He attacked you?"

"Y-Yes… I'm sorry, I didn't want to… I didn't want to kill him," he answered, truthfully, rising to his feet. The knight sighed, a tired sigh.

"Truthfully, what you did was the kindest thing you could have done. You released him. I suspect your fight is the reason I could locate you, I saw lightning pierce the clouds, ground up. I thank you, Tactician," Frederick responded, "I… regret needing to ask, but could you assist in his cremation? It would not do to let a hero of Ylisse remain in this accursed ash."

Robin nodded sullenly, helping the larger knight as they set about their dreary work. By the end, the hero was burning, hopefully at peace. Robin noted that despite the macabre, depressing work, the knight maintained a stoic, calm demeanor. It was then Frederick told him to share his saddle.

"Where are we going?" The tactician asked, stirring on the horse's back.

"Providence, my friend. Perhaps the largest city in the world. One of the only ones left."

"I…" Robin began, but realized there was so much he didn't know. "I… I can't remember anything. You and I were… friends, yes? Libra was as well, was he not?"

The knight nodded, his face aimed forward. "Aye, we were allies. Truthfully, there's a great deal I am uncertain of myself. Most of the first generation have… gaps in their memories, to put it plainly."

"I… but I don't remember anything. It's not so much that there's gaps, there's simply nothing. Sometimes I'll sense that something is familiar, but I have no true 'memories'," he said, his brow furrowing.

"I suppose that makes sense, given… what you are."

"What… what exactly am I?"

The knight sighed once more, shaking his head in what seemed to be a mix of exasperation and sadness. "Tactician, remove your glove and glance at your right hand."

Robin narrowed his eyes in confusion, before pulling his glove off. There, emblazoned on his hand, was an emblem that was… sickeningly familiar. Six eyes in a curved shape. A Mark.

"Robin. You are... "

"_Fellblood. _That's… what the priest called me," Robin reasoned. The Mark made him uneasy.

"You would do well not to say that name so lightly, my friend." The knight grew quiet.

"What do you mean? Is it taboo?"

Frederick sighed. "I would advise keeping that hidden, at all times. It… that mark is not a symbol of anything you can be blamed for, but nevertheless… many would jump to conclusions." Robin noted that he dodged the question, but he understood well enough. The title of Fellblood, the mark, they were certainly connected. So many questions, about himself, the world, his allies…

"You… you said the 'first generation'. What did you mean by that?" The knight didn't respond for a moment, and Robin took notice that Frederick seemed to put a great deal of thought into every word he spoke, carefully considering every word before speaking. The tactician realized he wouldn't be able to glean any information that the larger man did not want him to hear.

"I mentioned the Shepherds?" Frederick questioned, making sure Robin recalled. "We are a military outfit, tasked with protecting the people of Ylisse. Once, we were regarded as one of the greatest fighting forces in all the world. Now, suffice it to say, I believe we are one of the last remaining fighting forces in all the world."

"Frederick?"

"Yes?"

A beat of silence followed.

"I… I feel as though we constantly dance around the question. I… need to know, I need to understand," Robin said, voice wavering. "What… what happened?"

More silence, only interrupted by the sounds of hooves moving through the ash, and the clanking of the knight's armor. The ash that fell constantly, like snow, seemed to slow around them. Frederick, ever stoic, spoke one word.

"Grima."

The air seemed to turn cold. The ash seemed to fall a bit faster. Robin could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and he felt an odd sensation on his right hand, exactly where the mark lay. That feeling returned. The feeling of being… watched, by some unknowable, primordial malevolence.

"Th-... That name, I…" The tactician desperately scrambled for memories that weren't there. He knew that name. He _knew _that name.

"Robin." Frederick's voice held a firm edge. "Do not force anything. You will only succeed in bringing yourself pain. Forgive me, there is a great deal to explain, but… I do not feel I am the one best suited to doing so. Pray, come to Providence and meet the Exalt. Then… perhaps more of your questions will be answered."

"The… Exalt?" Another familiar term. Another feeling of frustration as he desperately tried to grasp memories that were beyond his reach.

"Aye. The Exalt is the ruler of our people, and their staunchest protector," Frederick said, a crinkle in one eye being the only indication that he felt positively about this Exalt. His face darkened a moment later. "Watch yourself. Around the Exalt, but as well as the Praetorian Guard."

He turned on his saddle to force eye contact with Robin. "Every word you speak will be of the direst importance. Every word will be scrutinized. One wrong move, and you will most assuredly be killed."

Robin stiffened a bit, donning his glove once again. "Why? Why are you so certain that they would kill me? Is it… it relates to that mark, yes? And the title of Fellblood, I assume…"

"Aye. As I said, it is nothing that you can be blamed for, but that does nothing to change the fact that many would."

Robin nodded, numb, beating back several contradictory emotions. On the one hand, he couldn't help but be relieved that there were, in fact, others out there. Other _sane _people. On the other, they may be hostile to him, if Frederick's word was anything to go off of. A part of him couldn't help but feel righteous indignation. What gave them the right to hold him accountable for anything? According to Frederick, he was an innocent man! But then… how did he know Frederick was right?

He shook his head, letting out a breath. For now, he would have to trust the knight.

* * *

The two rode on in silence, Robin taking notes of other things on their ride. For one, despite the barren soil around them, the lack of direct sunlight, or any clean water that Robin could see, both Frederick and his horse seemed to be in healthy condition. That meant that this city, Providence, had to have some reliable source of food. But if the entire world was like this then… how?

Before he could ponder on the thought for too long, Robin saw something in the distance. From there, it seemed to be a lone mountain, and a massive one at that. Still, something about this mountain, just like so much else, seemed distinctly familiar. Robin failed to place it, again, but he knew he'd seen this mountain before.

It seemed truly massive. Surrounded by flat plains, it seemed to jut out into the heavens. It was very broad at the base, growing more and more narrow up to the peak.

"Mount Prism. The mountain upon which the city of Providence lies," the knight explained, seeming to notice Robin's piqued interest.

It was an impressive sight, made only more so as they got closer. There seemed to be a large road going up the mountain, lined with buildings and houses, some made of wood, some stone, others even carved into the mountain itself. There were several larger flat areas, upon which Robin could see what appeared to be crops, something that brought him to confusion.

As Frederick came upon the base, Robin made note of the gatehouse guarding the road that scaled the mountain, upon which it seemed the vast majority of the city was based. The knight made a symbol to the guard, and slowly the gates opened. It was immediately apparent to Robin how strong of a position this was, defensively. Being on the highest point for countless miles meant that any threats would be seen far in advance, and any invading force would face the truly terrible situation of literally fighting an uphill battle.

The two rode up the mountain, coming through the gates. It was then that Robin saw the first example of mass civilization in this world. As Frederick rode on, it seemed many eyes trailed on Robin. He saw them everywhere. Eyes. Eyes watching him.

"Plegian cur."

"Why did Sir Frederick rescue one of _their _kind?"

"Another mouth to feed, and it's one of them?"

Other such comments reached him, and it became very apparent to him.

He was not wanted, nor welcomed.

He did his best to take his mind off it. He noticed telling things about the people watching them pass. While certain signs of poverty indeed existed, such as often dirty and tattered clothes, signs of _starvation_ were nowhere to be seen. That meant that those crops earlier had to be sustainable, and where there were crops, there had to be clean water. Where, he still didn't know, but he at least knew that somewhere out there, clean water there was.

Robin shook his head, realizing he was overanalyzing. As they grew higher and higher, passing through another gatehouse that was even more defended than the first, he began to notice the change in building quality. Toward the base of the mountain, most of the buildings were made from wood, and were clearly in worse condition. As they grew higher, however, stone buildings became much more prevalent, as was the military presence. He assumed…

"If anything were to happen, the population would retreat to the more militarized districts?" He asked, more to himself than anyone else.

"Aye," Frederick nodded. "We just passed through the Residential Quarter, where the bulk of the population lives. Now, we're moving through the Stockpile Quarter. It's where almost all of the farming is done, and where all of our resources are held, save for weaponry, armor, and strategic metals."

"I see."

"Next is the Military Quarter, where our weapons are stockpiled, soldiers are trained and recruited, and so on. It's perhaps the most heavily fortified out of the four, with the best made fortifications. It is also home to smithys, horse breeders, tanners, and is where the bulk of the troops are stationed."

"And the final one?"

"The Exalted Quarter. Only the Exalt and those in direct association with the Exalt live there. It is at the highest point of the mountain, and is where we are headed. I would buckle down for a fairly long ride, were I you."

* * *

A long ride it was.

Getting from the initial gatehouse guarding the Residential Quarter, to the final gatehouse guarding the Exalted Quarter must have taken around six hours, if not longer. It truly was a testament to just how massive the mountain was. Even on horseback, with a straight way up, it took six grueling hours.

The air was very notably thinner at the summit, and he felt night must have fallen a time ago. There were less people on the streets, though this may also be due to the lower population of these quarters.

One thing that had repeatedly been hammered into him was the simple fact that he was not trusted. Multiple times, Frederick had been stopped by soldiers passing by, some even bluntly asking if Robin had possessed him. It seemed the knight held a fairly high standing, however, and the soldiers generally stood aside when he told them to do so. Other times, he would threaten the more persistent ones in a way Robin assumed only the real Frederick could.

Now, as guards went to go rouse the Exalt, Robin found himself at the summit. Dismounting with Frederick, the amnesiac stretched his legs, finding a life in the saddle did him little favor. Taking in a breath, he took note of his surroundings. The summit was less spacious than the rest of the road leading to it, but that did not make it any less massive. There were several buildings, Robin guessed religious sites and administrative structures, as well as a deal of guards on night duty. Frederick had explained that these guards weren't permitted to live in the Exalted Quarter, but rather, they lived closer than the other guards did to make the commute easier on the men.

The Exalted Quarter certainly was tiny compared to the rest, but Robin supposed it made since. This served as the seat of government, it seemed. As Frederick took stride for a large building in the middle, Robin felt his beliefs were confirmed. Built from stone, enclosed in high walls, this building had a certain dignity to it not afforded to many others. As Robin came into an open court area, surrounded by walls, for perhaps the first time, he felt safe.

It was then that his senses and instincts kicked in before his conscious thoughts did, and he managed to catch one of the blades that had been hurled at him, aimed at his throat. The other slashed into his shoulder. Blinded by pain, Robin nearly missed the form moving at him. He caught a glimpse of long, dark hair, and a mask over the eyes.

His assailant launched himself at Robin, the latter only just catching his wrist, blocking the dagger aimed at the amnesiac's heart.

"_You!"_ the man yelled, striking out with his fist, a move Robin just managed to avoid. The amnesiac kicked at his leg, knocking his legs out from under him. Quick to recover, the man rolled back and to his feet, ducking into a low stance.

"Gerome."

A commanding voice cut the would be assassin off. Frederick, standing between the two now, brandished his spear. His face had a hard look to it.

"Sir Frederick, you brought this… this _monster_ here?!" The man, Gerome asked, his low voice cracking with rage.

"Sir Gerome, this man is my friend. He is an asset-"

"He burned our home to ash. Do not speak to me of 'assets.'"

A silence fell over the two, as Robin watched, unsure of what to do. He could see the tension, and was fully aware of what would happen. Gerome was willing to kill Frederick to get to Robin, and Frederick was willing to kill Gerome to prevent just that.

The amnesiac was aware that several guards were watching, they themselves obviously unsure as well. Robin guessed that both men outranked them, and none were sure if it was their place. Still, it had to be someone's…

"Please," his voice spoke up. "It… it doesn't have to be like this!"

It was then that it happened. A green glow seemed to gather around Gerome as he crouched low, clutching his dagger, while a blue one enshrouded Frederick as he stood tall; defiant.

When Gerome moved, Robin couldn't even follow it. When Frederick reared back his lance, the blue light emanating from it was blinding.

"_Galeforce."_

"_Luna."_

One of them would die. Robin knew that. He knew that, and yet… he couldn't move.

It was then, just before they clashed, Frederick thrusting forward, Gerome trying to duck below at superhuman speed, that third person entered.

Long cerulean hair.

A cape on the back with an insignia brandished.

A broadsword with an all-too-familiar design.

And skill beating that of any war god.

The woman leapt between the two from above, using her blade to deflect Frederick's lance into the air, and her foot to kick out one of Gerome's legs. The blue energy coalescing around the knight's lance exploded into a beam, blasting into the night sky, bathing them in a brilliant blue light, whereas Gerome's superhuman speed led to him tumbling end over end, crashing into the wall behind Robin.

The woman rose to her full height. Robin got a look at her face, and was taken aback. She was beautiful, the kind you only read about. Blue eyes analyzed him, seeing through him. Ice. A mask of ice examined him. She slowly raised her blade, pointing it at him.

"Fellblood. What have you invited into my home, monster? Have you corrupted my allies?"

'_Allies,' _she'd said. Not friends; allies. Her voice had a rage to it, but one Robin knew was greatly restrained.

"I…"

"Milady Lucina," Frederick's voice cut Robin off, as the knight lowered his lance, "this is Robin, Tactician of the Shepherds."

The woman, the Exalt Lucina, eyed Robin with scorn etched in her features. A wind seemed to blow, her hair flowing as elegantly as brushstrokes in a painting. Her blade did not waver.

"I see." The Exalt moved forward, her blade lowering, until she was within four feet of him. Her eyes watched him, closely. "Then, _Tactician_, I would ask you to do the Shepherds one final duty."

"I… what is required of me?" He asked, taking a step back, which she immediately made up for, taking two steps closer to him.

"Your life. Die, Tactician."

Eyes cerulean blue peered into eyes stormy grey.

"Die, in atonement for the _hell_ you have unleashed."

* * *

_Lot of worldbuilding this time. Hope it isn't overwhelming._

_I vibe with this story a lot, just lack time or energy to write. Still like where it's headed. Glad to see people notice the soulsborne parallels._

_My inspiration from this story basically came after beating Souls 3. My intent is to have the dark fantasy/postapocalypse vibe of soulsborne, with the worldbuilding of Re: Zero or Fallout. _

_For those who felt this chapter was slower moving, the next few should be better in that regard. More dialogue/character driver. For those who are fans of worldbuilding, as I clearly am, this is for you._

_Stay safe and god bless_

_blm_


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